Impervious
by y u m e m i . g a . o k a
Summary: Schuldich can burrow into anyone’s mind: anyone but Nagi, that is. Yaoi, Schuldich x Nagi


**Pairing:** Schuldich x Nagi  
**Genre:** dark, smut  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 2853  
**Warnings:** explicit sexual content, statutory rape  
**Summary:** _For a second, in the dim, ominous glow of the computer screen, it seems as if he is a wraith—ready to disappear at any given moment; just a passing vision._ Schuldich can burrow into anyone's mind; anyone but Nagi, that is.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Weiß Kreuz or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.  
**A/N:** Futago no Seishi here again—not booted from this secret account… yet. A fairly old piece of mine, written in summer 05. But still one of my favorites, and full of dark, hateful smut. w00t! And yes, I am of the opinion that young Nagi had to prostitute himself, along with stealing, to survive out on the streets.

**Impervious**

The storm rages outside. Roots are being torn unceremoniously from the soil as the wind grips the dying trees' tender branches. No one ventures out in the streets due to flooding; no one wants to soil their clean, expensive, designer clothing out in the murky water. Already there have been three foolish enough to leave the sanctuary of home and have perished in a watery grave. People aren't too fond of treading through powerful waves coming in waist-high and accidentally bumping into the rotting corpse of their co-worker.

People can be so sensitive.

The wind howls ferociously, screaming out its own esoteric dirge for all the souls it has eaten. Little children are cowering in fright at the sound. _Ghosts_, they say,_ ghosts are coming! _and they hide behind their parents' bodies, as if they could save them. Such trust and pure, unadulterated fear. The wind conspires with me, with each roar bringing me the sweet thoughts of those terrified souls locked inside their safe little homes.

Crawford has told me I'm a sadist for enjoying the fear of little children. He told me this while tying Nagi to his bedposts. What a hypocrite; but then again, aren't we all?

We're just all the same in the end. All so very dirty and out for the blood of our neighbor. That is the fate of humanity, the so called God's Children. Does it matter that we have cognitive thought and emotions? At best, we are no better than the animals that we pride ourselves in surpassing. We all have carnal desires—those sickeningly rich and tempting needs that make us lose inhibition and all ability to reason: a_nimal instincts_.

You could say I have a twisted addiction to the pain of others. I would simply reply that it's not my fault that I'm offered such a delicacy upon a silver platter; I was never a man of much restraint.

Nagi.

_Nagi_.

_Oh Nagi, dearest, why won't you let me in?_

He does not let me into his mind; he is the only one of the group that denies me access to his thoughts. Crawford tries his best to block me out, but his walls are brittle and riddled with holes fit for a snake to slither through. Farfie doesn't care; never has, never will, and it's always such a high to traverse the muddle that is his mind—such unthinking bloodlust and conflicting remorse that sets my nerves aflame and gives my mind something to savor for hours to come.

But that boy likes to hide too much.

Perhaps it is because I always try to break into his thoughts that he has learned to resist me so well. But it has always been this way since the start; when I first met the scrawny thing, dressed in naught but rags and grime, with gaunt face and exposed ribcage, he was able to resist me. I wonder at times whether it is merely an unconscious shield that he raises about his deepest thoughts, never once relenting, even during respite.

It drives me wild, and each day I'm more determined than the last to smash that shield of his and drink in the sweet honey of his mind.

_The door is open, Schuldich. I'm sure you can get in fine by yourself_.

I am standing in front of his room and I smirk at the wood as his reply races across my mind. So neat, his thoughts; composed and sure, as if it had been typed upon that damned computer he adores so much. Of course he would ignore the double meaning in my question, though he knows well what I mean.

I allow myself to hover around the steel barrier in his mind as I twist the handle open.

He is sitting at his computer as expected. A pair of headphones adorns his head, no doubt blasting some loudly obnoxious rock into his ears—that foreign stuff he adores so much from the United States. Singers that can't sing and musicians with no talent whatsoever besides the ability to fool the mass population into believing the rubbish they produce to be music. In any other situation, this would have been a fine tactic for a broody teenager to avoid listening to their parents. But then again, I'm far from his father and we have other means of communication.

_That crap is going to make your ears bleed someday._

A slender hand lifts and he tugs the headphones off, shaking his hair out before letting them drop down to rest around his neck. I can hear the faint guitar riffs all the way from across the room where I stand in the doorway.

"What do you want?" he asks calmly, as if he can't hear me in his head. I make sure to laugh in his mind, a grin rising on my face as his shoulders tense slightly. He always did hate it when I did that, since he said it felt like spiders in his head.

"Nothing in particular." I shrug as I walk across the room to where he's sitting. "Just bored." Upon reaching his seat, I lean down to brush my lips against his hair, letting my breath billow hotly into his ear. "How about you entertain me, bishounen?"

The nickname annoys him. It's obvious from the way he scoffs to the way his back stiffens, spine arching delicately and muscle flexing beneath taut skin. The only article of clothing he wears is a pair of black sweats, slung low on his hips and damn inviting. The jut of his hipbone teases as he resumes typing away on the keyboard, even though his hands are folded neatly in his lap.

"Don't call me that," he grumbles in an irritated fashion as the mouse starts moving of it's own accord, the pointer clicking various windows on the screen. Next the music shuts off and the headphones place themselves neatly down by the keyboard.

He's progressed quite a ways with his powers since when we first picked him up. Before, menial tasks such as these would tire him if he used his telekinesis to perform them often. However, most of the time now, it's all he depends on. If you ask me, the boy's just growing lazy.

"And you're a grown man, regardless of whether you act it or not. I'm sure you're capable of entertaining yourself. Everyone knows you do it often enough each night."

I let myself slide a hand down his side, feeling the dip of waist beneath ribcage. He doesn't stop me so I continue on, slipping my fingertips beneath the band of his pants, stroking the sensitive skin over his hips. "Mm, but it's so much more fun with someone else." I pause before brushing my lips over his pulse, thrilling in the flare of disgust, hatred, and desire that appears in his mind.

"Mein liebe," I finish in my native tongue as I slide my hand deeper inside his sweats, tracing the flesh of his inner thigh. "So how's that for a pet name?"

The typing never ceases and he stares placidly at the screen, as if this doesn't bother him one bit. But I can detect his annoyance; he doesn't bother to hide little emotions like this from me. He stopped bothering to after I accused him of being an emotionless porcelain doll. It's charming to know that my opinion matters that much.

I smile as I flick my tongue out to taste the fresh skin of his neck, biting down and enjoying the pleasant feel of flesh sinking beneath my teeth—sinking like a knife into butter, the sweet juices of life springing forth from the crude incision. _Oh, so this name doesn't bother you? Then how about you give me a kiss?_

My hand clutches at the back of his head, pulling him forward and pressing our lips together, his blood staining our mouths. He is in pain from the wound; it radiates like the finest wine from his mind, and I become woozy on it as I plunder his mouth. Velvet cave, and his jaw unhinges with the slightest pressure, opening him wide. So submissive, yet he resists in the way that his hands remain in his lap, in the way his tongue remains motionless.

When I least expect it, he bites down on my tongue, cutting the flesh. I pull back with a jerk of shock, tasting the blood welling up from the laceration. He stares at me defiantly, red smeared over his mouth and tousled hair falling down to cover his piercing gaze. I smirk as I tug sharply on his hair, causing his head to snap back and expose the graceful curve of his neck.

"Brat," I murmur as I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down in the pallid column of his throat.

I run my tongue over his lips, fresh blood mingling with the dried upon his skin. _Blood makes powerful pacts, mein liebe. So sure it was such a good idea to bite me now?_

When I pull away, he spits in my face.

"Feisty as always," I sneer as I wipe my face, looking him over. "But you're enjoying this, aren't you?" I lean over him and cup the apex of his thighs, feeling the hard flesh beneath my palm and squeezing it lightly. The resulting grunt he gives causes a similar reaction in my own body, but maybe it's from the revulsion radiating from him. Delicious in every way how he finds this so detestable—be it the fact that I'm doing this to him or the fact that he's enjoying it, I can't bother to care.

The computer chair skids to the side as I push him off it, and he lands with a muffled sound upon the carpeted floor. I kneel down above him and tug my shirt over my head quickly, tossing it aside to lie meaninglessly by the chair. He merely stares up at me indifferently as he spreads his legs apart, just enough for my body to fit in the intimate space between.

_You're such a little slut_, I purr into his mind as my fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats, tugging them off sharply. I feel an invisible force push my hands aside and his pants slide off the long lengths of his legs easily, the clothing folding itself neatly before settling down gently upon the swivel chair.

"Just the way you like me," he drawls as a phantom hand skirts over my erection, pinching lightly as the button on the jeans pops open. The fly soon makes its trek downwards, freeing my throbbing member. The invisible hand returns to the length, stroking, squeezing, and teasing in the most delicious yet unsatisfying manner feasible. It's not enough; it never is, and I'm sure he does it just to avoid touching me for as long as possible.

His hair is soft beneath my palm as I grab a handful, urging his head closer to my crotch. _Why don't you use that dirty mouth of yours and make this worthwhile?_

Hot and wet is his mouth around my length, but his mind is dripping with so many emotions that I'm nearly lost within them all. As his tongue drags up the underside of the shaft, there is just so much _hate_. This is what makes it all memorable; any reaction out of him is worth savoring because they're rare and intense. Better than any of the insipid thoughts I coax from the plebeians.

Besides, hate is such a powerful emotion; it's gratifying to know that I'm deserving of such raw feeling and vulnerability.

There is a soft clunk besides me, and when I look over I see the drawer closing and a tube of lube uncapping. The substance seems to be floating in the air before it disappears behind Nagi's raised bottom. His legs spread apart further and he whimpers softly around my length, the vibrations causing tendrils of pleasure to twist its way up my spine.

Normally, he would let me fuck him dry; let the blood that spills as he tears lubricate our act. He despises me all the more for it, yet it gets him off—and it's always so much fun to see him float around the loft the next day, seeing as he wouldn't be able to walk without limping. But we have a mission tomorrow, and Crawford would kill me if I impair our intelligence specialist.

His hips roll slightly as he stretches himself, hands gripping my thighs periodically as he bobs his head up and down. I try to keep my breathing steady and focus on burrowing further into his mind, lest I come right there. Even after all of these years, he is still incredibly talented—with a mouth like liquid sin, all hot and nearly unbearable.

Once a whore, always a whore, I suppose.

Thankfully he pulls away and gives me a moment to catch my breath. Like a feline, he crawls towards me, all slender limbs and street grace. His face is characteristically impassive, looking almost bored—and I would believe it, had not his body illustrated the desire he felt. As his arms wind around my neck, I probe around in his mind once more; but he has raised his defenses, to the point where I can scarcely detect the heated loathing he harbors for me.

When he sinks down upon me, however, I can barely think straight as he envelops me in his tight heat and invisible hands ghost across my skin.

A soft, rattling moan pushes its way out from his throat as he rocks his hips gently. For a second, in the dim, ominous glow of the computer screen, it seems as if he is a wraith—ready to disappear at any given moment; just a passing vision. His skin is so pale, almost as if it were constructed of fine sheets of paper with a dollop of red paint to form a small, perfect mouth. The dried blood upon his neck is the only blemish on his skin, and it's easy to close my eyes and imagine that the innumerable hands teasing along my neck and chest belong to many other beautiful children.

_Faster, _I growl into his mind, and he shivers at the sensation as he obediently speeds up his movements. With each undulation of his hips he closes further in on himself, and soon his mind has become an impervious citadel. All that I have left are the soft pants in my ear and the smooth nails digging into my shoulders. He clutches at me as if we are lovers, when in reality, I'm sure he would kill me if ever given the chance.

It would be amusing if he ever tried to, though. I know he must want to so badly.

I reach down and wrap my palm around his length, squeezing firmly before tugging sharply. He lets out a choked cry as weak and frail as he appears, and gives a convulsive push with his hips—then he is coming, a white hot flash in my mind as he writhes in my lap, sticky fluid coating our stomachs. His release triggers my own and I forget how to breathe in the span of half a second as my mind becomes blessedly blank. No thoughts, no voices, no lingering feelings from the minds that I've touched upon previously. For an infinitesimal moment, I'm completely alone.

Then everything comes crashing back.

Nagi is trembling slightly in my lap, his breath warming the already damp skin of my neck. After a few minutes of recovering the use of his lungs, he climbs off of me and stands up on unsteady legs. He takes a moment to regain his balance before he grabs his sweats, tugging them on again. A yawn escapes his lips before he stretches lightly, and I watch the shifting of his muscles from my position on the floor.

"Go away, Schuldich." He plops back down on the computer chair, sliding it in front of the monitor again and resuming what he was doing prior to my interruption. "I've already done what you've asked."

I lazily do up my jeans and push up off of the floor, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of damp denim clinging to my thighs. He ignores me as I lean over his chair, and I study his profile for a moment before planting a wet kiss against his cheek.

"Thanks for the fuck," I purr as I pull away, chuckling as he rubs at his cheek in aggravation.

"Don't mock me."

"I wasn't," I reply nonchalantly as I grab my discarded shirt and head out. The quick clacking of the keyboard resumes by my third step, and when I turn back to look at him from the doorway, the headphones are securely over his ears once more.

_How about you let me in next time, hmm?_

The door slams shut in my face and I can't help but laugh as the wind roars outside.


End file.
